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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036122">Petals Pink &amp; Faerie Ink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird'>Willow_bird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adam Parrish with Piercings, Adam Parrish with Tattoos, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop &amp; Tattoo Parlor, Florist Ronan Lynch, Gay Disaster Ronan Lynch, Getting Together, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Pining, Pynch Secret Santa 2020, Thirsty Ronan Lynch, Winter fic, minor jealousy, pynch - Freeform, tattoo artist adam parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:00:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan Lynch opened Cabeswater Florals &amp; Design just a couple of months ago with his best friend Gansey. Since then they've made friends with the other business owners and residents and have more or less found their place within the cozy community of Henrietta. Things are going great, sure, but Ronan has a problem. A beautiful, mysterious, and utterly unattainable <i>problem</i>.</p><p>That problem's name is Adam Parrish.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Pynch Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Petals Pink &amp; Faerie Ink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/gifts">tinyarmedtrex</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all! This is my gift for <a href="https://tinyarmedtrex.tumblr.com/">@tinyarmedtrex</a> for the Pynch Secret Santa! They requested a tattoo parlor/flower shop au with a dash of jealous Adam! And oh boy did I have a blast writing it. I was so nervous because this is my first full fic for the pynch fandom x.x </p><p>HUGE thank you to <a href="https://justadreamfox.tumblr.com/">@justadreamfox</a> for beta-ing this me and <a href="https://alittlelately.tumblr.com/">@alittlelately</a> for listening to me panic for the last like... month XD</p><p>Hope you enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The steady hum of the refrigerators was the only accompaniment to the quiet of the shop and Ronan wanted to break something just so that <i>something</i> interesting would happen, if only for a moment, if only in the <i>sound</i>. It was still early, really. Ronan had only opened the shop about a half hour ago and he wasn’t expecting it to be <i>busy</i> -- but Gansey had insisted that one of them always needed to be up front while they were still such a new shop. Since Gansey was off getting them coffee, that meant Ronan was the asshole left in charge and the one tasked with greeting the customers who probably weren’t going to come in anyway.</p><p>Contrary to popular belief, Ronan did not hate the quiet. There was just a difference between the quiet of an early morning right before going out to feed the goats, and the quiet of a shop waiting for customers. Cabeswater Florals &amp; Design had been open for just about two months and while Gansey was apparently ‘pleasantly surprised’ with the amount of consistent business they were getting, Ronan was decidedly unimpressed. That was to say -- he was <i>bored out of his fucking mind</i>.</p><p>The festive lights Gansey had strung up and the holiday bouquets Ronan had arranged on displays throughout the small shop did little to warm the place when it was empty like this. It was perpetually chilly in the store out of a need to keep it the right temperature for the flowers, and Ronan felt like he was sitting in a morgue. He wasn’t sure whether to be creeped out or inspired by the fact that, well, he sort of was. It was a flower morgue, his victims trimmed from life and kept well-preserved in artful displays, ready to be sold to customers who would probably barely glance at them before the rot set in. Death was only attractive at the onset. The longer it stayed around, the easier it was to ignore -- at least until it began to stink, and then it was discarded. It was both morbid and fascinating for Ronan to think that his whole business depended on people coming back for more and more new death in different arrangements.</p><p>Not that they had a ton of business or anything. Gansey was right; they <i>were</i> doing decent business. But Ronan was bored with the mundane jerkoffs that primarily seemed to be coming in.</p><p>It was the same every single time. Someone wandered in and looked around for maybe a few minutes, only to pick up a single rose or a premade bouquet based solely on the dollar amount and not the actual <i>meaning</i>. Didn’t these assholes understand that this shit was an artistic language capable of visual expression that both paralleled and remained adjacent to spoken word?</p><p>Gansey told him he was taking it too personally, but to him the language of flora <i>was</i> personal. There were some things you just… couldn’t say with words. Sometimes only beauty itself could give that message. </p><p>The sharp chime of the bell above the door cut through the hum and quiet of the empty shop. Since Gansey would have liked him to jump up with smiles and enthusiasm to greet the first customer of the day, Ronan remained deliberately slumped over the counter, compressed under the weight of his own attitude. He offered no greeting and instead just rolled his head with a heavy sigh to see what townie had forgotten his boss’s birthday today. </p><p>The sight of <i>Adam Parrish</i> walking into his shop had Ronan damn near pulling a muscle with how fast he sat the fuck up.</p><p>Adam Parrish, one half of the artistic duo that ran Magician &amp; Page Ink - the tattoo parlor right across the narrow street. Adam Parrish, the man who - the first time Ronan had ever met him - had engaged in a full-on verbal war pitting cacti against succulents. Adam Parrish, witty and mysterious and way too fucking attractive for his own good. Adam Parrish, the man who had single-handedly proven why eyebrow piercings were so sexy they really should be illegal. </p><p>(He had <i>two</i> of them, by the way. Two innocuous silver barbells right next to each other struck through his right eyebrow, a balancing counterpoint to the stud he wore in his nose. Sometimes, if Ronan watched carefully, he could even see the flash of a tongue piercing -- and <i>that</i> was fucking criminal.)</p><p>Every single time he spoke with Adam Parrish, Ronan felt a sharp heat in his gut that he’d only mistaken for hatred for the first two weeks before coming to his damn senses and recognizing it for the depth of attraction that it was. It would have been one thing if it was only about the elegant line of his body or the slope of his shoulders that was neither delicate nor bulky but a strength somewhere in between; if it were only the winter blue of his eyes and the dimple that played in one cheek when he was genuinely amused. If it had only been those things, only the physical aesthetic that had captured Ronan’s attention so fucking thoroughly, Ronan probably would have been able to respond to it. More coherently. He might have even approached Adam about it.</p><p>But of course it wasn’t. Of course it was <i>more</i>. And Ronan… Ronan didn’t get to <i>have</i> those things.</p><p>He’d hoped that by ignoring it, the feelings would go away. Instead, he turned into a fucking disaster every damn time he was around Adam. Even now, with Adam decked out as he was in a violently green puffy coat that really shouldn’t be anywhere <i>close</i> to sexy, Ronan had to take a moment to try and un-swallow his tongue. Adam wore these fucking earmuffs that looked like they’d been made in a seventh-grade girl’s art class, down to the poorly stitched flowers on the cuffs that might have been roses and also might have been Dali-inspired stop signs. His mittens (yes, <i>mittens</i>) featured cross-eyed snowmen. None of these things should be anywhere near attractive, but for some fucked up convoluted reason they only seemed to come together to make Adam Parrish all the more… <i>perfect.</i></p><p>Snow was still clinging to Adam’s hair, the chill of the flower shop preventing it from melting right away, and when Adam’s eyes caught on Ronan he <i>smiled.</i> It was a small thing, sure, but the sight of that half-smile as it pulled up into the shadow of a dimple had something tightening low in Ronan’s stomach that he quickly shoved away. </p><p>“Your order isn’t going to be done until Thursday, Parrish. I don’t know why the fuck you’re here.” Ronan kept his expression feigned into arrogant disinterest. He knew Adam saw right through it, but Ronan hoped he couldn’t see the truths he was using it to mask.</p><p>“You know,” Adam said lightly as he approached the desk, “this charming customer service demeanor is probably why you have so many customers.” He made a show of looking around the empty shop, because he was an asshole. Ronan wasn’t sure if he hated or appreciated how that only made him more attractive.</p><p>“Fuck you too,” Ronan grumbled. He jumped off the stool he’d been sitting on for the last God-only-knew how many hours and groaned as he stretched first one way and then the other. When he turned back to Adam, the other man was studying one of the Christmas displays near the counter. He had unzipped his coat and pulled off his earmuffs. Ronan noticed that the tips of his ears were bright pink despite having been protected from the cold by the ridiculous things. Adam had also changed out the usual colored studs in his traguses for tiny snowflakes, and the helix on his left ear for a double-stripe of red and white. It was festive and cute and Ronan really could not handle it.</p><p>Adam looked over at him then and flashed a small smile that did terrible things to Ronan's chest. He felt like he'd swallowed a whole flock of tiny, over-caffeinated geese. They beat their wings against his heart in agitated slaps, honking out profanities in goose language as Ronan fumbled to find words before he embarrassed himself. </p><p>But Adam was already taking another look around the store, chin lifted as his gaze scanned curiously from corner to corner. </p><p>"No Gansey today?" he asked as he brought his attention back to Ronan. His tone was casual, but Ronan still had to fight back an unwelcome swarm of jealousy.</p><p>“He'll be right back. He just went to get us some coffee."</p><p>"From Henry's?"</p><p>Ronan nodded as he moved around the counter to lean against the front of it (not at all so that he would be closer to Adam).</p><p>There were two little cafes on the main drag: Bumble Shots - run by Henry Cheng and Noah Czerny, and The Aura Cafe - run by about thirty different lesbians. Adam's business partner and the other artist at Magician &amp; Page, Blue, was at least loosely related to some of them -- though Ronan hadn't taken the time to figure out how. The Aura had the better food, but Bumble Shots had made coffee an artform; it had a wider variety of beans and roasts than most bars had of liquor. </p><p>They also <i>had</i> liquor, which had instantly made it Ronan’s preferred haunt.</p><p>“Have you been trying their ‘Mystery Brew of the Day’ thing?” Adam asked with an amused twist to his lips. </p><p>“They’re actually calling it ‘The 25 Days of Brew-mas’,” Ronan corrected, and even <i>he</i> wasn’t sure if he was complaining or being defensive of his friends’ antics. Henry and Noah were a couple of the smartest idiots he knew, but they were still both fucking idiots. They were also a couple of impossible <i>dorks</i>.</p><p>Adam shot him a knowing look. “Are you participating in ‘The 25 Days of Brew-mas’, then?” he asked, and with so much utter cheek that Ronan pulled a twig of holly off the desk where he and Gansey had set up some of their own holiday contributions and tossed it at him. Adam laughed as he caught it, then had the gall to tuck it behind his ear with a smirk. </p><p>For a moment Ronan’s world went sepia. The sunlight coming in through the large clear windows at the front of the shop kissed Adam’s smile and played in the shine of the snowflakes in his traguses. The shot of red and green from the holly muted itself to match the man who wore it and Ronan thought, not for the first time, of the stories his father used to tell him about the fair folk. </p><p>“Very cute,” he said with forced sarcasm before Adam could invite him across the veil to dine on forbidden fruits with the <i>daoine sidhe</i>. He dragged himself back to the actual conversation at hand as if that was going to save him, knowing full well he was in too deep at this point to do more than work with the current to avoid drowning. At least it was a topic separate from Adam, or himself, or Adam-and-himself, which was a thing that was never going to happen. “And yeah, I’ve been indulging them. Some of their concoctions have been weird as fuck but they’ve gotten it right a few times so far.” </p><p>Adam started to say something but stopped as the bell above the door rang out it’s second chime of the hour. They both looked over as Gansey walked in and there was a sudden sharp tangle of relief and resentment in Ronan’s chest at the sight of his friend. On one hand, he really needed the coffee and Gansey had probably saved him from ultimately making an ass of himself first thing in the morning. On the other, Ronan didn’t like that his rare bit of alone-time with Adam had been so abruptly cut off. </p><p>“Why hello there Adam, good to see you today,” Gansey said with his trademark charm as he registered who else was in the shop. </p><p>“Gansey,” Adam acknowledged with a nod as the other man approached the counter. Ronan accepted his coffee with a sigh, popping off the lid to let it cool more quickly to something drinkable. There was a distinct scent of hazelnut wafting off the frothy surface that suggested Henry or Noah had made good decisions about today’s brew. </p><p>“Sorry I don’t have any coffee for you. If I’d’ve known you’d be here I would have definitely gotten one for you. And Blue, of course.” Gansey looked around the shop like the pint-sized bit of drama was hiding somewhere among the displays. Granted, she was fucking tiny, so it was entirely <i>possible</i> that he hadn’t seen her right when he came in, but personally Ronan thought he was just being pathetic. </p><p>Adam chuckled. “Nah, she’s got an appointment first thing this morning so she’s getting her station set up. I don’t have one until ten so I thought I’d come trouble Ronan here.” Adam’s gaze flicked back to him and Ronan pointedly sipped his too-hot coffee so that he could pretend he didn’t have any feelings about the weight of it as it landed on him. </p><p>If Gansey was disappointed about not getting to see Blue he was much better at hiding it than Ronan usually gave him credit for. Instead, he smiled and shrugged out of his coat, folding it over his arm as he rounded the counter and slung an arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “Ronan doesn’t mind, do you Ronan?” Gansey said with a grin. Ronan was <i>this close</i> to shoving his elbow in the fucking idiot’s stomach for the ribbing. </p><p>“Trust me, Gansey is ten times more trouble to deal with than you could ever be,” he said instead. He looked up from his coffee and directly at Gansey with a glare that he knew could make lesser men tremble. It was an expression unfortunately wasted on Gansey, though, who had known him back when the original incarnation of the same look reflected more constipation than threat.</p><p>Gansey grinned innocently at him and rubbed a hand over the tuft of hair growing out from his last buzz. It was starting to get long enough he needed to shave it down again, but he’d been busy with the shop and it kept slipping his mind. </p><p>“Ah, well… I should probably leave y’all to get back to work then. Blue will be wondering where I’ve got off to.” There was a note in Adam’s voice that had Ronan looking over at him again, but whatever it was didn’t show on his face. The other man was giving a polite smile, warm if not a little bit more distant than usual, as he tugged on his mittens and pulled those stupid earmuffs out of his pocket. Then, before either he or Gansey could question or protest further, Adam was striding right out the door in a neat escape that Ronan might envy if it didn’t confuse the fuck out of him. </p><p>Gansey pulled away from him as the bell above the door stopped its swaying, leaning against the back counter to sip his own coffee. “What was that about?” he asked when Ronan looked back at him. </p><p>Ronan shrugged. “Fuck if I know. He didn’t even say why he’d come in. His order won’t be ready until Thursday.”</p><p>Gansey studied him for a moment, in that <i>way</i> that Gansey often studied things -- like the whole world was a puzzle that only he could solve. Then, like he had figured something out, the fucker <i>smiled</i>. “Right. Well, we best get to work, yeah? The arrangements for the Snow Diamond Gala won’t build themselves.” Then he laughed when Ronan flipped him off. </p><p>He had half the mind to ask him what that smile was about, but he didn’t have any of the patience to deal with Gansey’s evasions. Instead, he just shrugged and swiped up his coffee so he could take it into the back room with him. Let Gansey deal with the front of the store for a while, he had real fucking work to do.</p>
<p></p><div class="center"><p>*_*_*</p>
<hr/><p>*_*_*</p></div>When Ronan walked into Bumble Shots that evening after closing up Cabeswater for the night and found an Irish coffee already waiting for him in front of his usual stool at the end of the bar, he had to pause and wonder when the fuck he had gotten so goddamn predictable. Was it an age thing? Was this a sign he was getting <i>old?</i><p>After shaking off the impulse to order a macchiato and position himself in the middle of the room at one of the high tables just to be contrary, Ronan slumped into the waiting seat at the bar. Heather, the barista nearest him, smiled over at him in greeting, the multicolored bells in her festive little antlers jangling cheerfully as she moved from station to station. Ronan sighed and took a sip of his coffee, feeling a bit of tension seep out of his shoulders. It was the perfect temperature and the perfect mix of coffee and liquor.</p><p>Perhaps predictability wasn’t so bad. </p><p>One thing he liked about Bumble Shots was the way the place was set up more like a bar than a cafe or any other kind of coffee house. The Aura was cozy; it was everything a small-town cafe could and should be. Bumble Shots was more like a caffeine-induced fever dream of a speakeasy, just without the haze of cigar smoke and with a Madonna cover band playing from the small stage in the back of the room instead of a jazz quartet or a lounge singer.  All the wood was rich and dark, regularly waxed and polished by the staff, who all wore classy suspenders as a part of their uniform. As soon as the sun went down they added fedoras -- at least they <i>had</i>, up until December first, when they all started wearing festive headwear all day long instead. </p><p>The uniform/costume change matched the garland and lights strung around the bar, which had actually appeared overnight directly after Thanksgiving. Ronan was sure that if they could have gotten away with it, Noah and Henry probably would have had their Christmas decor up the day after Halloween. In fact, he wasn’t altogether certain they hadn’t tried, but had gotten slapped down by their baristas -- who were collectively far more reasonable about just about everything. </p><p>Ronan took another sip of his spiked coffee, closing his eyes to savor the mix of flavors. He then narrowly avoided <i>choking</i> on those flavors as a familiar voice sounded directly over his left shoulder.</p><p>“Hey, mind if I join you? Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. You alright there, Ronan?” A little bolt of lightning shot down Ronan’s spine before he pulled himself the fuck together. He coughed a few times to clear his throat and then glanced back at Adam (because of fucking <i>course</i> it was Adam) in a pointed glare. </p><p>Despite his apology, Adam didn’t look very sorry at all and Ronan narrowed his glare further. Any <i>actual</i> irritation swiftly faded at the sight of the other man’s smile, though. Ronan wasn’t sure what the world was coming to, that he would be so moved by someone <i>else’s</i> amusement at <i>his own</i> expense but, well, here they were. </p><p>Ronan grumbled a bit but stood up and gestured to the two seats at the end of the bar, the furthest of which being the one he’d just been seated in. “Take your pick.” They’d never really talked about it in depth, but Ronan was aware of Adam’s deaf ear and had noticed he typically liked to stand or sit wherever he could hear the person he was talking to. It was starting to get busier inside the little room though and Ronan didn’t want to assume. Personally, Ronan wasn’t sure <i>he</i> would feel comfortable not being able to hear what was going on behind him -- but he wasn’t going to make that fucking decision for Adam. </p><p>Adam looked surprised for only a moment, then the expression evened out to something harder to read. Ronan had the weird feeling he was being evaluated somehow, which kind of pissed him off. He was an asshole, sure, but he wasn’t a <i>dick</i>. Well, not usually. </p><p>After a weighted moment, Adam took Ronan’s vacated seat, which put Ronan on Adam’s hearing side. There was a little flutter in his chest, something pleased and primal and protective. As Ronan slipped into his new seat he allowed himself just a moment to do a quick scan of the room behind Adam -- not because there was any threat but because some stupid lizard-brain part of him had suddenly decided that he had been named Chosen Protector or some shit and it was his duty to make sure there were no threats behind his charge. It was stupid, and pointless, but Ronan permitted it for <i>just</i> a moment before taking up his coffee again and indulging in a deeper drink as he did his best not to get caught up in the way Adam was still <i>looking</i> at him. </p><p>Like he could see something Ronan wasn’t meaning to expose. </p><p>“Thought your loyalties were to The Aura?” Ronan asked with a raised brow once they were both settled. Maybe if he focused on conversation he wouldn’t have to notice the soft blue of Adam’s eyes or the way his fingers flexed as he tugged off his mittens. Maybe if he devoted his energy to making words, his brain would set aside its wonderings about if Adam’s hands were really as rough as they looked and how his fingertips might feel brushing against Ronan’s lips...</p><p>“Eh, I’ve been known to dabble on both sides of the street,” Adam responded with a shrug. There was a small curl of a smile just on one side of his mouth, like he was sharing a private joke with himself. </p><p>Ronan was far too vain and far too close to being <i>caught</i> to ask what it was and so instead, he gestured grandly at the huge selection behind the four baristas currently working the bar and said, “The world is your oyster, Parrish.”</p><p>Adam rolled his eyes, but Ronan definitely noticed that the smile he was wearing didn’t fade. Not even a little. If anything, the other side of his mouth twitched up in a mirror, broadening the expression to something <i>distinctly</i> pleased. </p><p>The flip and tug in his chest that jumped into action in response to that smile suggested that Ronan was even more pathetic than he realized so he forced himself to look away, gesturing for one of the baristas to come hit them next. </p><p>Adam sighed as he looked up at the monstrous wall of beans and brews, his brows furrowing as he took in his options. For just a moment, Ronan almost felt bad for him. He could understand the intimidation of having too many options -- especially since Adam usually went to The Aura, which only stocked a basic rotation of coffees in comparison to the legitimate <i>coffee bar</i> that was Bumble Shots. </p><p>This was only for <i>a moment</i>, though -- because that was all the time it took for Ronan to be distracted. It was hard to think about Adam’s usual coffee habits or even to wonder why he’d randomly decided to come <i>here</i> after closing down shop tonight instead of joining Blue at The Aura like he usually did. Ronan was a bit too preoccupied with the way his mouth looked, lips pursed tight in concentration, and the way his thoughtful posture had him tilting his head to expose the long, strong line of his neck. It was bare of any scarf, despite the cold, presenting a much-too-beautiful view. Then, because the world was just <i>cruel</i>, Adam unzipped his puffy coat and shrugged it off to hang on the back of his chair. </p><p>He was wearing a loose sweater a size and a half too big for him, the neck of it scooping low enough that Ronan knew his undershirt was the kind of pale pink you didn’t buy in stores but rather happened by consequence when you fucked up on laundry day. Because of the way he’d tugged his coat off, the sweater was pulled off-center, more toward the shoulder nearest Ronan. There were three dark freckles on Adam’s shoulder that Ronan wanted to--</p><p>Ronan swallowed thickly and made a valiant attempt to drag his gaze away, only to have it catch again on the movement of Adam rolling up the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows -- because apparently this was <i>Torture-Ronan-With-A-Fucking-Strip-Show Night</i>. Ronan’s gaze was drawn instantly to the elegant swirls of ink and magic on his forearms. Twisting vines of black, green, and indigo all veined with silver connected the images in both sleeves, making it a cohesive piece. </p><p>Every time Ronan caught a glimpse of it, he discovered something new. Today, for example, peering through the vines just under where the edge of the sweater sleeves bunched on Adam’s right arm was the image of a little orphan girl, a newsboy hat hanging low over too-knowing eyes. The image dimmed one kind of fire in Ronan’s gut only to spark a different one, this one higher up and hanging in his chest by the power of static left behind by the already semi-frequent lightning strikes of that particular breed of interest. Ronan felt he knew that girl. Or maybe he just connected with the lost, feral shadow she seemed to represent. He wanted to ask about her, but bit his tongue. </p><p>“They probably don’t have something normal like tea, do they?” Adam complained lightly, pulling Ronan’s attention away from the ink on his arms. </p><p>“If you wanted tea, you should have gone over to The Aura,” he reminded him, grateful for the distraction. </p><p>For a moment, Ronan thought Adam was going to say something about that, give a reason why he came here instead. Adam looked over at him and opened his mouth as if to do so, then snapped it shut again and shrugged. </p><p>Before Ronan could ask the question anyway, Heather swooped their way. She was far more helpful than Ronan, and was able to guide Adam into choosing some kind of latte made from a dark roast that originated in a distant country whose name Ronan wasn’t sure he could even attempt to pronounce without offending someone. Heather made the drink right there, using the espresso machine nearby and delivered it in one of the bar’s black and gold house mugs. There was a festive wreath design detailed artfully in the foam, over which they shared a look -- Adam’s tinged more with amusement and Ronan’s with exasperation. </p><p>“They really, <i>really</i> like Christmas,” Ronan explained dryly. </p><p>Adam chuckled and sipped his coffee, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the taste. Ronan savored the sight for just a moment before turning to his own mug and taking a resolute swig.</p><p>“Are they going to be going to that big party, then? I hear it’s supposed to be the biggest event of the season or something like that.” Adam paused for a moment and shook his head. “Who talks like that? ‘The biggest event of the season.’ Not saying that it won’t be, certainly all the way out here in Henrietta -- but who says that?” </p><p>“Gansey,” Ronan offered with a shrug. They shared a look and a smirk before taking drinks of their respective coffees. Adam was talking about the Snow Diamond Gala, a big swanky ball being thrown on Christmas Eve. All of the local business owners had been invited and anyone who was <i>anyone</i> was apparently going -- and not just from Henrietta. According to Gansey, there were going to be political figures showing up from all up and down the east coast. </p><p>“Probably, though,” Ronan said then, returning to the original question. “I know they’re closing early on Christmas Eve anyway, and those two assholes are always up for a party.”</p><p>Adam nodded at this and sipped again at his coffee. “I heard Cabeswater is doing the flowers for the event. Did they give you anything interesting to do or just order two tons of poinsettias and call it a night?” The cheeky smirk the other man shot him was not appreciated, but damn it to hell if it wasn’t attractive as fuck. </p><p>“The people running it are stuffy politicians, what do you think?” Ronan returned dryly. He sighed then and shook his head. “They wanted a couple more varied arrangements, but mostly they just wanted to flood the room with holly and poinsettias. Gansey speaks their language and managed to convince them that the flowers would still read ‘Christmas’ even with a bit of variety, but it won’t be the display it could have been if they’d just let me do my damn job.” He scowled into his coffee before taking an aggressive swig. It was a fucking missed opportunity and he couldn’t help but think that if someone else - someone pretty or soft or conventional - had been doing the flowers that they would have been given more freedom to create. </p><p>There was a light nudge to his arm and when Ronan looked over, Adam was giving him a smile and lifting his mug in salute. “I have every confidence the arrangements you do get to show your abilities on will make them regret reining you in. You’ll have to tell me what their reactions are.”</p><p>Ronan ignored the warmth that traveled from that minute point of contact on his arm all the way into his chest. Ignored the way it bundled up once it got there and then began to expand before shooting out again to fill the rest of his body. He cleared his throat in an (only partially successful) attempt to chase away the head rush and took another drink of his coffee -- though at this point he was really only drinking it for the booze at the bottom of the mug.</p><p>“I’ll have Gansey take a picture. He’s the one handling the delivery since he’s actually attending the damn thing.”</p><p>“You aren’t going?” Adam asked, curiosity coloring his words but only slightly. </p><p>Ronan snorted. “Nah, it’s really not my kind of scene.” There was a measure of silence and when Ronan looked over he saw that Adam was looking down into his cup like the remaining foam was spelling out some kind of secret message for him </p><p>“I’d have thought you would be going with Gansey,” Adam said without looking up from where he was now using a coffee-stirrer to play with the foam on the top of his cup. <i>Writing messages back, maybe?</i> What was up with him? The tone of his voice was almost <i>too</i> neutral, but Ronan was distracted by the absolute absurdity of the implication that he, <i>Ronan Lynch</i>, would ever allow himself to be dragged to a fancy fucking soirée like the Snow Diamond Gala. </p><p>He shook his head emphatically. “No fucking way. Not even if he begged me.” Not that Richard Gansey III was a man who begged for anything, but even if he were, Ronan wouldn’t be swayed. </p><p>“Besides,” he added with a sharp-toothed grin over at Adam, “if all goes well with Gansey’s big romantic plan, he’ll have a date that looks way better in a dress than me.” Granted, the woman he was after was likely to show up in a gown made of plastic bags just to make a statement, but he had to admit that Blue Sargent would at least make the trash look stylish.</p><p>At that, Adam looked up and over at him sharply. “What do you mean?” </p><p>“I mean he’s finally gonna find his fucking balls and ask Blue out.” Yeah, he saw the hypocrisy there. He really did. But he was really, <i>really</i> fucking good at ignoring it. </p><p>“He’s… asking Blue out? And you’re… okay with that?”</p><p>Ronan looked over at Adam then, utterly lost. Because why the fuck would it bother <i>Ronan</i> if Gansey was asking out Blue? Hell, he was fucking <i>relieved</i> because now, if she said yes, maybe he’d finally be freed from listening to Gansey fucking <i>pine</i> all damn day. Instead, he could actually go on dates with the woman and leave Ronan the fuck out of it. </p><p>“Uh. <i>Yeah.</i> He’s only been basically in love with her since he first laid eyes on her. It was starting to get obnoxious.”</p><p>There was an odd look on Adam’s face, something between wariness and curiosity that Ronan just couldn’t quite place. </p><p>“I thought you and Gansey…?” He drifted off, like Ronan was supposed to be able to fill in the blanks.</p><p>Ronan frowned, lost and now swiftly getting irritated with this whole conversation. “What?” he asked, the word coming out in a snap that would have made most men either flinch or bare their teeth in return.</p><p>Adam did neither, he just grimaced and made a circular gesture with his hand that made absolutely no fucking sense to Ronan at all. “You know…”</p><p>“Uh. I clearly fucking do <i>not</i> know. Are you gonna fucking tell me or are we gonna attempt charades. If it’s the latter then I need to be a fuck of a lot drunker to made that shit tolerable.” </p><p>“No. Ah...” Adam laughed, though the sound was filled with more reticence than mirth. “I thought you and Gansey were together.”</p><p>It took a minute for that to actually compute. <i>Together</i>, Adam said. He thought he - Ronan - and <i>Gansey</i> were…</p><p>Ronan felt his own eyes widen and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then he was laughing. Loud and rough and uproariously. Laughing because that was the funniest fucking thing he had ever heard. Laughing because <i>him</i> and <i>Gansey!?</i> Laughing because even if he <i>had</i> been in any way, shape, or form into Gansey that never would have worked because Gansey was very, <i>very</i> clearly into a pint-sized problem named Blue Sargent. Laughing because <i>what the actual fuck?</i></p><p>“Hold it. You..? What? Ha! Gansey? <i>Gansey?</i> You thought me and… and <i>Gansey</i> were…?” he managed to gasp out between bouts of what was swiftly approaching something close to hysteria. </p><p>“Yes, I did,” Adam bit out, and, oh -- <i>he</i> was certainly not laughing. The sharpness in the other man’s tone sobered Ronan but only a little. Rather, it was the deep lilt and the shift in his vowels that broke past the bewilderment. Although born and raised in Henrietta, Adam usually maintained more of a nowhere-and-anywhere accent than most of the other residents. Ronan could count on one hand the times he’d heard it slip in and still have fingers left. </p><p>Once on Blue’s birthday, when they, Gansey, and the Bumble boys had all gone out to celebrate and Adam had snapped at Henry who kept trying to get Adam to drink. Once in an overheard shouting match with some guy he was refusing to let into the shop (Ronan had been about to head across the street to lend a hand, but Blue had shown up with a metal baseball bat that was fucking bigger than she was and the guy had gone away). </p><p>And now. </p><p>“Sorry,” Ronan said -- and he must not say that very often because Adam looked visibly surprised to hear it. “Look…” He shook his head and sighed, nodding toward the door in a vague indication of wherever-the-fuck Gansey was. “Gansey is like my brother. We aren’t… we could never be more than that. Besides, he’s so fucking gone over Blue I thought everyone could see it.”</p><p>Adam stared at him, his temper clearly drained but now replaced with something else that Ronan did not have a name for. “Gansey isn’t your boyfriend, then?” he asked, and there was the softest lilt kissing his vowels. And fuck it, even with the weirdness of this whole conversation, Ronan really wanted to be those vowels. Personally, he thought he’d make an excellent addition to the alphabet, especially from the inside of Adam’s mouth. </p><p>“No,” Ronan confirmed -- or maybe he was just reprimanding the gay idiot inside his own stupid fucking brain. </p><p>“Oh,” Adam said. The tips of his ears were bright pink, the color also breaking out at the highest crests of his cheeks and along his throat. Ronan tried not to think about kissing the splotches of color. Tried not to wonder where else they might show. </p><p>Then Adam, in all his Adam-ness, said, “That’s good to know.” He lifted his coffee and tossed it back, draining the rest from the cup. By the time Ronan had registered the word at all, the other man had laid down several bills on the bar, his coat on, and was already shoving his hands back into his mittens. </p><p>Ronan blinked at him. “Is it?” he asked, because he didn’t really know what to say. </p><p>Adam paused. He looked at him, and then he tilted his head ever so fucking slightly and smiled <i>just enough</i> so that one dimple showed. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”</p><p>Then Adam fucking Parrish slapped him on the shoulder in farewell and strolled out of the cafe like that was an acceptable way to end a conversation. Ronan sat there for a full two minutes, wondering what just happened, before he turned and flagged down the nearest barista to order another Irish coffee, hold the coffee. Heather was the one to bring it by and she didn’t even blink when Ronan told her to just leave the whole fucking bottle.</p>
<p></p><div class="center"><p>*_*_*</p>
<hr/><p>*_*_*</p></div>On Thursday, Ronan loaded up a large, deep cardboard box with Adam’s order. Alright, <i>technically</i> it was the <i>Magician &amp; Page’s</i> order -- not Adam Parrish’s specifically. The arrangements were for the shop, not for the man’s home. Well, most of them. Ronan had created two smaller arrangements in his favorite black glass bowl vases for Adam (or Blue, whatever, sure) to take home in case they wanted a more portable reference. It was a trade thing, artist-to-artist, that was all.<p>“Have fun!” Gansey said with a grin as he opened the door for him. The man was still on a high from Blue having accepted his invitation to the gala. “Oh! You should see if Adam wants to go to the gala! Blue said he wasn’t planning on going, and I know <i>you</i> weren’t planning to show up, which is a shame really. I think you’d have a good time if you just-- hey, Ronan!”</p><p>Uninterested in his best friend’s chattering, Ronan had just kept walking as soon as the door was open, and he continued to do so now. The idea of asking Adam to go to the gala was so absolutely out of the question that it didn’t bear contemplation. Even if it <i>wasn’t</i> absurd to think about proposing anything to the other man that might be construed as a date, he wouldn’t fucking ask him to go to the <i>gala</i>. They’d both be out of place and uncomfortable, too far outside of their element probably to enjoy anything about the night. No, if he were to take Adam on a <i>date</i> he’d probably take him someplace… wild. Maybe up to the cliffs, or out to the woods. Or maybe they could take a mini road trip to the beach. Beaches in winter were great. They were deserted, and it was like visiting the world in the past. </p><p>Dinner was an option, too. Sure. But if he had the chance to take Adam out on a date he’d rather be more creative about it. </p><p>Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about all the dates he was never going to have with Adam Parrish, though. Ronan balanced the box carefully against his hip with one arm as he pulled open the door to Magician &amp; Page. Unlike the simple bell above Cabeswater’s door, Magician &amp; Page had a full set of windchimes that sang his arrival like a choir of mischievous fairies. He always felt like he was being told on whenever he entered the shop. It was an unsettling feeling, and one he didn’t like to dwell on. </p><p>“Just a moment!” Adam’s voice was muffled, coming from the back office. The shop was otherwise empty, with no Blue or customers to be seen. Ronan took the opportunity to look around the shop and admire the art on the walls for the nth time. </p><p>Every time he came in here he felt like he discovered something new among the images. Some were photographs of Blue and Adam’s more spectacular pieces on the people they were commissioned for, and some were drawings and digital renditions of what people could request and generally what they could expect from each artist’s individual style. Ronan’s favorite was Adam’s <i>Forest of Dreams</i> series, which took up it’s own corner. Sketches of vines and trees and various flora mingled with lonely creatures peering through the leaves and petals. The images called to something in him, something he couldn’t quite name and was hesitant to explore.</p><p>His gaze had just caught on what had to be a new addition, the image of bruised and battered hands cupping a luminescent flower with the utmost of care, when Adam stepped out into the main area of the shop. </p><p>“Ronan, hey.” When Ronan looked over, Adam was smiling, head tilted slightly in curiosity. “You brought the order? You didn’t have to do that. I was going to swing by on my lunch.”</p><p>Since Ronan was mostly sure it would ruin his image and out his unfortunate infatuation, he decided against saying ‘<i>well I didn’t fucking feel like waiting that long to see you</i>’. Instead, he said, “It was taking up space in the workroom.”</p><p>Either he wasn’t convincing or Adam knew him well enough by now to know better than to take his annoyance seriously, because the other man just shrugged as he moved forward to take the box. He was wearing another sweater today, something that looked soft to the touch and was two shades darker than the summer-blue of his eyes. It was rolled up to his elbows in a way that bared his forearms and Ronan was beginning to worry that he might have a kink for that particular visual because he had to quickly look away even as he passed over the box. There was just… something about the way the other man’s muscles tightened under the gentle strokes of ink as he took on the weight of the box that made Ronan’s mouth go a bit dry. Or maybe it was the curve of Adam’s hands as they gripped the corners and held fast so he could carry it to his consulting table. </p><p>“I think you’ve accidentally packed in someone else’s order with ours,” Adam said once he’d set the box down so he could pull out the carefully arranged bouquets. Adam always handled Ronan’s creations like they were fragile, precious things. Ronan wondered if Adam would handle <i>him</i> the same way. Not that he wanted to be treated as if he were fragile, but it would be nice to be considered precious to someone. </p><p>Ronan finally got his ass to move and stepped up beside Adam, making sure to approach from the other man’s hearing side. He reached into the box and pulled out the two small glass bowls with their trimmings. “No, I had some extras when I finished with your pieces. I thought you or Blue would want to take them home. You know, for extra references…”</p><p>It sounded lame even to his ears but Adam only smiled at him. “Really? Thanks Ronan. The one I’ve got on my desk at home has just about hit the end of his life.”</p><p>Ronan thought about pointing out that he hadn’t put them together for decoration or as like some… some kind of <i>gift</i>. It was an artist-to-artist thing. For reference. And drawing practice. Or… whatever. He wasn’t quite that dim to think he would be able to get away with that kind of sorry argument though so he stopped himself before he could bother with the attempt. Instead he gave what he hoped came off as an uncaring shrug. </p><p>“Yeah, no problem. Well… I should go… Let you get back to work.” An escape sounded like a good idea right about now. </p><p>Except Adam apparently did not agree. Just as Ronan was turning to leave, Adam reached out and snagged the sleeve of his coat. “Ronan, wait.”</p><p>There it was again -- the unidentifiable tone in Adam’s voice. It was weighted with something that Ronan couldn’t place. Ronan paused in his step and looked over at him, studying the other man’s face for any hint, any clue. He was studying Adam’s face so closely, in fact, that he didn’t see it at first when Adam lifted his free hand until he was already pulling it back from where he’d plucked what looked like a small twig with a few curved leaves still attached to it out of his hair. Things sticking to his hair wasn’t usually an issue, considering he preferred to keep it buzzed short, but it had been a busy couple of months and he hadn’t gotten around to it lately. </p><p>Ronan blinked, looking from Adam’s smile to the twig in his hand. “I.. uh… don’t know how that got there.”</p><p>Adam chuckled. “Well, you work with plants all day, so I have a few guesses.”</p><p>“I don’t have any flowers up there do I? Because that would be embarrassing,” he joked, because clearly ‘embarrassing’ was the only actual setting he had today. </p><p>“No,” Adam assured with another quiet chuckle. “Though if you tried it sometime I wouldn’t be disappointed. I think you could definitely pull it off.”</p><p>That… did not compute. Not at first. Then all the understanding slammed into him like an elephant riding a runaway freight train. He looked at the smile on Adam’s face, took in how close they were standing, became very aware of Adam’s hand on his arm and how he currently held the twig near his own chest. </p><p>Oh. <i>Oh...</i></p><p>It took a minute. Maybe two. Maybe ten. It was hard to tell because his brain didn’t really have the capacity to register time when it was still freaking the fuck out over the whole revelation that <i>Adam fucking Parrish</i> was apparently <i>into</i> him. So, like a complete idiot, he just stood there and stared at him until his brain caught up with the rush of his pulse. </p><p>With the height of Lynch eloquence, Ronan said, “Uhh..”</p><p>Adam chuckled, and it was the flush of pink at the other man’s throat and the very tips of his ears; the fidgeting of his hands first at the sleeves of his sweater and then at the back of his neck, that clued Ronan in the rest of the way. He felt really fucking blind for not seeing it before, because now it seemed <i>obvious</i>. And holy <i>fuck</i> was it adorable. Adam -- Adam <i>Parrish</i> -- was just as nervous around him as he’d been around Adam. And now Ronan was being a complete fucking asshole by just standing there staring at him.</p><p>Suddenly desperate to respond in a positive way, Ronan fumbled through a breath and took half a step forward. “You should go to the gala,” he blurted. “With us. Me. With me. You and me. To the gala.” He had no fucking clue why he’d said that. He didn’t want to go to the <i>fucking gala!</i> At the same time, it was the only place in the goddamn world he wanted to be if it meant he could be there with Adam. With Adam having gone with him. As his date. With Adam as his date to the gala. On a date. With Adam. </p><p>“You don’t want to go to the gala, Ronan,” Adam reminded him. And while he was absolutely correct, Ronan could not get over the way Adam said his name. It was no different than how Adam had always said his name -- but before now, Ronan had worked very hard not to be affected by it and right now that executive function seemed to have been stalled. Because while Ronan’s father always said his name like it was a weapon, something dangerous to be wary of, Adam said his name like it was some sort of pleasant surprise. Something he wasn’t expecting, but was very glad was there. </p><p>“Ronan?” Adam said again, this time with the slightest hint of a question in his tone. It matched the tentative curve of a smile at the edge of his mouth. </p><p>Ronan shook himself out of his stupor and cleared his throat. “You’re right. I don’t. That gala is the last fucking place I want to be. So let’s go somewhere else.”</p><p>“On Christmas Eve?”</p><p><i>Shit.</i> That’s right. The gala was on fucking <i>Christmas Eve</i>. Adam probably had plans anyway. He held back a grimace and tried to go for an unbothered shrug instead but only partially succeeded. “It doesn’t have to--”</p><p>“No, that sounds great. I’m in,” Adam cut in before Ronan could finish his elegant redirect. He had taken a step closer, too, and now they were so close that Ronan could see the darker flecks of blue in Adam’s eyes. Like shards of infinity trapped in a summer sky. It came to his attention at this point that Adam also had never let go of his coat sleeve and now his grip loosened -- but not to pull away. Instead, Adam’s hand slid down from just below his elbow to his wrist, then, after a brief pause, to his hand. </p><p>A jolt of electricity struck his palm at the touch and raced all the way to his heart. His breath caught and he knew his face was heating up but maybe if he ignored it Adam wouldn’t notice it either. “Alright,” he said maybe a little too quickly. “Then it’s a date?” He tried to sound cool and casual, but it still came out as a hopeful question. </p><p>The loss of his cool card was worth it for the smile on Adam’s face, though. Adam squeezed his hand, and Ronan squeezed back. </p><p>“Yeah,” Adam said. Then he leaned forward and kissed him, the touch light as a feather, on the cheek. Adam’s lips felt soft and cool against his skin, and he felt his face heat up in what was definitely a blush. </p><p>Ronan cleared his throat and looked away, then up at the ceiling like maybe that would fucking help him get his shit togehter. “Ah, yeah. Yes. Yeah. <i>Yes.</i> Then. Great. A date. What time should I pick you up?”</p><p>The cheeky little smile on Adam’s face, just this side of a smirk, was going to <i>kill</i> him. The fact that there was a very attractive shade of pink over the crests of his cheeks, darkening the dust of freckles there, really didn’t help either. “I’m going with Blue to her family’s place during the first part of the day. Is six too late?”</p><p>“Six is perfect. Er. I mean, yeah, that’s fine. Should I pick you up here at the shop or…?” </p><p>Adam chuckled. He still hadn’t let go of his hand. <i>He still hadn’t let go of his hand!</i> “Yeah. I live just upstairs so...” He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling, like he was seeing through the floor and into his own living room or something. Ronan tried not to stare at the exposed line of Adam’s throat or think about kissing along the sharp bump of his <i>pomum Adami</i>. Tried and failed, but he did try. </p><p>He managed to tear his gaze away before Adam looked back at him, but it ended up catching on their still-joined hands instead. Adam’s fingers curled tighter around his own in a squeeze and when Ronan looked up again Adam was giving him a small smile. Something giddy bubbled up in his chest and for the first time Ronan didn’t bother to stop the grin that always wanted to form whenever he saw Adam. He let it form, let it grow, let it <i>bloom</i> -- and when Adam’s smile blossomed brighter in return, making him all the more fucking beautiful, he realized that this was really happening. </p><p>He could really have this shot. </p><p>Ronan bared his teeth through the grin and squeezed Adam’s hand before releasing it to pluck the twig from Adam’s fingers and tuck it behind the other man’s ear. “Perfect,” he said more confidently now. “Then if I don’t see you before then I’ll text you on my way over.”</p><p>“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Adam asked with a small grin that didn’t seem to want to drop, even though it looked like he was attempting to put on a more skeptical air. Ronan thought that maybe he hadn’t been the only one pining for a couple of months -- or maybe he was just feeling a bit cocky now that he’d gotten a damn date. </p><p>Well, cocky was a more familiar suit anyway. </p><p>So he grinned and stepped back with a lazy shrug, half turning toward the door. “Nah. I think I’ll let it be a surprise.” The truth was that he didn’t <i>have</i> a plan -- not yet, and by Adam’s laugh he thought maybe the other man knew that. Still, he kept his chin high and his shoulders loose as he raised a hand in farewell. “Talk to you later, then.”</p><p>He could still hear the smile in Adam’s voice as he said, “Bye Ronan.”</p><p>The best part? He knew that he was going to have the chance to hear it again when he next said <i>hello.</i></p>
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